The Gift
by Mythdefied
Summary: Cupid thinks about his relationship with Strife, then gets a present from him. Slash, C&S.


General Comments: I actually wrote this a couple years back, but it was supposed to be a sequel to another story I was working on at the time, "Obsession." That story probably won't ever be completed, however, if you're curious, you can find what I have of it along with commentary, at my LJ in the memories section, under "wip graveyard."

This story stands well enough on its own, I think, and it's appropriate for the holiday, so I'm posting it anyway.

I've gone through and edited it and while it shows a bit of a reliance on fanon (not a surprise considering when it was written) , I don't think it's too bad. There are a few things in here that might seem a little off -- such as how Psyche is dealt with -- but which would've been handled much better in the original story. Here, they're a bit glossed over and I'm sorry for that.

Warnings: R, possible eww factor.

Disclaimers: I think after seven years, if I was going to be making any money off of this, or if I stood any chance of owning the guys, I'd know it by now.

Archive: my LJ, AJCS, FFN and my site.

**The Gift**  
by Erin  
February 2005

Stroking his fingers along sweat-slick pale flesh, Cupid enjoyed the feel of Strife's surprisingly soft skin pressed against him, admired the way the torch light made Strife seem like a marble statue, polished and glistening. Black hair, damp with sweat where it fell against white skin, a sharp contrast, making him look even more like some life-like sculpture. Eyes closed, he wasn't even breathing, completing the illusion, but probably only because he knew how much Cupid liked that.

Cupid was well aware that Strife was awake beneath his touch, but he also knew Strife wouldn't move until he was done. Strife stayed still for no one save Cupid, allowed no one else to touch him like this, stroke him, map out every inch of his wiry body. Cupid did it as often as he could get away with, given their jobs and his frequent desire to do far more than simply touch Strife. Still, he understood his own need for this, the compulsion to do little more than touch. He had to reassure himself that Strife was there, that this was real and he did finally have someone who wanted him as much as he needed to be desired, someone who could accept everything Cupid had to give. He'd once overheard Ares and Aphrodite talking about them, comparing Strife to a black hole and Cupid to the brightest sun in the universe; Cupid had an endless, overwhelming amount of love to give and Strife had the unique, limitless capacity to soak it up and _not_ be overwhelmed. Psyche hadn't been able to cope, but Strife took it all and demanded more. Cupid had never felt so needed in his whole life, or so utterly happy.

"You're mine," Strife had said once. Lying together in Cupid's bed, Strife had lain on top of him, gripping Cupid's hair tightly to focus his attention in the aftermath of mind-shattering sex. "Anyone looks at you wrong, I'll bring you their eyes. They say one word against you, you'll have their tongue. But if you _ever_ turn to someone else, god, mortal, I don't care, I'll make you watch while I dismember them and their family, dig?"

Cupid had been struck speechless by the complete and total devotion of that statement. Oh, there was madness in Strife's eyes, but Cupid had been well aware of that before. It danced in Strife's expression, visable for anyone who cared to see it, but it only made him more intense, more demanding and thorough, and it made Cupid hard.

"How could I look at anyone but you?" Cupid had whispered, arms sliding around Strife's back. "You're all I need."

And Strife _was_ all he needed. The one person, one _being_ in existance who could handle what Cupid was without being dragged under and drowning in love and sensation. Cupid needed to give and Strife needed to take; they were perfectly matched.

Hand sliding over Strife's hip, down between his legs, Cupid wasn't surprised to find him soft, unaroused. It was another of Strife's peculiarities, one of many. Cupid adored everything about him though, even this, because it was a compliment of sorts. Strife wouldn't get hard unless Cupid asked it of him. That had frightened Cupid at first, thinking that Strife didn't really want him, but he'd had a lot to learn about Strife.

"I don't like sex, except for with you," Strife had said, glancing over at Cupid out of the corner of his eye. He'd been nervous and it had shown in the way his fingers fiddled with the laces on his boots. "Did it once, a decade or two ago, and I hated it. Hated it even when I had to get myself off a couple times, before I fixed things."

"Fixed?" Cupid had felt horror-laced fear creeping up on him. He couldn't live without sex, but nor would he force anyone into it. He'd thought Strife to be his perfect match, but if Strife found sex to be that disgusting...

"Up here." Strife had tapped the side of his head. "Figured out how to turn the libido on and off. I keep it off most of the time. I like you touching me though, feels good, so does the rest of it, I guess. So whenever you wanna do me, I just turn it back on."

"I--I don't wanna force you into anything." Cupid had struggled to keep his voice steady although he'd felt like he was losing his world. "If it's that bad for you, maybe we shouldn't--"

"Knock it off!" Strife had grabbed him by a wing and yanked him forward. Nose to nose, he'd glared at Cupid. "You're mine, get it? Every bit of you is mine and I'm not letting go, so forget about that."

"But if you don't like sex with me--"

"Oh, for fuck's sake! Did I say that? No! I said I _like_ it when you touch me. It's always good with you, Cupid, understand? You're the only one it ever _could_ be good with for me."

Cupid hadn't believed him at first, but the two days of uninterrupted sex that had followed had gone a long way towards convincing him.

He understood now, like he understood so many other things about Strife. Strife would never stray from his side simply because Strife had no desire to, literally, nor would he ever. Psyche had explained it better once when she'd come to bring Bliss by for a visit. She said he only had the capacity to focus on one person, one object, and to that Strife would devote his entire being, absolute commitment and obsession. Cupid was that focus and once he'd understood that, all doubts and fears had vanished.

"You're so beautiful," he said with a fond sigh, reluctantly ending his exploration with a kiss to Strife's shoulder. He really didn't want to stop touching Strife, but they both had places to be and jobs to do.

As usual his complement was met with a shrug of wiry shoulders and a slightly amused smirk. He knew Strife didn't think of himself as beautiful, or attractive in any way, but it pleased him that Cupid thought so, so there were never any arguments.

"I need to spend time with Bliss tonight," Cupid said with more than a little reluctance. As expected, Strife went tense, his expression turning blank. It was a delicate balance Cupid maintained, knowing Strife hated giving up time with him for anything non-work related. Strife didn't care for children and would never understand why Cupid loved Bliss and wanted to spend time with him. He only seemed to comprehend the fact that it was something Cupid needed, and he allowed it for that reason only. But he was never happy about it.

"I'll come to you tomorrow morning, promise." Cupid planted another kiss on Strife's shoulder, but Strife pulled away, eyes snapping open, sitting up abruptly.

"A whole day, Cupid?" His tone was as flat as the look in his pale eyes.

"It's his birthday, Strife. Same day as mine and it's something I can share with him." Now that Bliss was a little older, Cupid was looking forward to celebrating the special day with his son. He just wished Strife could be a part of it.

"This is...your birthday?" The blank expression was gone, swiftly replaced by a frown of confusion.

"Yeah." Cupid shrugged, pushing himself up. "I was into it big time when I was younger, parties and good times all around." He grinned a little at the memories. "The mortals picked up on it, I guess, 'cause they've turned it into some big romance day, which is cool. I mean, February is kind of a dead month festival-wise, so making with the love is good."

"I didn't know." The confusion disappeared but the frown remained as Strife looked away.

"Hey, it's okay." Cupid reached out to stroke his hand down Strife's arm, hoping to sooth away that troubled look.

"No, it's not. I have to give you something." Strife caught his lower lip between his teeth, a characteristic movement for when he was deep in thought and that bothered Cupid. He didn't want Strife stressing out over this.

"Look, I've already got all I want right here with you. You're the best present ever, get it?"

That got Strife's attention. His gaze snapped to Cupid's face and he just stared for long moments. "Yeah," he finally said. "But I need you to see."

"See what?" Cupid's eyes widened when a flash of light brought a dagger to Strife's hand.

"What you mean to me."

* * *

Cupid wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, staring, too overwhelmed to move, before Aphrodite's voice finally called him back to the present. 

"There you are! I've been running around like, this entire temple looking for you and my hair's _such_ a total wreck now!" Aphrodite whined as she entered the room. "Honestly, Cupid, I've been keeping Bliss company, waiting for you to move your butt, and you're, like, mister invisible, and--" Her words came to an abrupt halt the same time as she did beside him. He didn't look at her, but he could feel her standing there, staring, just as he was. "What in Zeus' name happened to _you_?" Aphrodite's voice sounded rather faint.

Cupid knew how he had to look, but he didn't care. His attention was occupied by the object on the bed before him. "Strife gave it to me," Cupid said, unsurprised to hear how his voice wavered. "For my birthday."

"Is...that what I think it is?" She took a step back, disgust coloring her tone.

Cupid just smiled, knowing the expression probably looked as blown away as he felt. "It's--it's so awesome, Mom; don't you get it? He did _this_ for _me_. It's like, the most totally incredible thing anyone's ever given me. He loves me, Mom; he's not leaving me." Cupid's voice fell to an awed whisper. "He gave me his heart."

The object in question continued to beat as it rested on the pillow in front of him. Each contraction of the muscle caused founts of blood to spurt out, coating the bed sheets, turning them from cream to dull red, spattering his legs and spraying a fine mist across his face and wings. He could feel the steaming hot drops sliding between his feathers, down his cheeks, and there was a faint taste of copper on his tongue. The taste of Strife.

Fin

(c) 1998-2006, Erin.


End file.
